


The Servant's New Clothes

by La_Temperanza



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Magic Revealed, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-24
Updated: 2012-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Temperanza/pseuds/La_Temperanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur gives him new clothes, Merlin thinks it's some sort of joke, until he realizes the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Servant's New Clothes

**Author's Note:**

> Written because of a spoiler/rumor I read about Series/Season Five about Merlin's clothes (Yes, THAT one) that made me upset, so I decided to write this to be my own personal head-canon. Also posted at [livejournal](http://latemperanza.livejournal.com/4601.html).

The first time Merlin sees them, he’s already running late, and is in the midst of mumbling an apology as he bursts into Arthur’s chambers. “Sorry, sire, there was a problem in the kitchens this morning--”

"Merlin, good of you to finally make it!” Arthur exclaims in an entirely too chipper tone that instantly has Merlin on edge. The King of Camelot is leaning against his desk, fully dressed, an official-looking scroll in hand. “Have a seat, will you?”

Not sure if he’s being set up for some sort of prank, Merlin quickly crosses the expanse of the room to put the food-laden tray on the nearby table. “I think I prefer to stand, if you don’t mind.”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur meanders over and pours a drink from the water jug, and Merlin can barely contain his shock at the scene in front of him. Arthur is out of bed, properly clothed, and serving himself, all without Merlin’s assistance? Will wonders never cease?

“Honestly, Merlin, stop acting like a skittish doe. I‘m not angry at you.” Taking a heavy swig from his goblet, Arthur gestures to the folded bundle on the corner of his desk. “Take a look at that and tell me what you think.”

A look of confusion spreads over Merlin’s features; Arthur has never asked for his opinion on outfits before, often decrying to anyone who’d listen that it’s a miracle the king hasn’t made a spectacle of himself, no thanks to having a manservant that’s apparently color-blind.

Nevertheless, Merlin sees no reason to ignore Arthur’s request, as frivolous and unusual as it seems. Examining the finely-made tunic with care, Merlin marvels over the quality of the stitching, the texture of crushed crimson velvet under his fingers, and the intricate embroidery that’s woven using golden-hued thread.

With the accompanying linen breeches that are probably the softest thing he’s ever felt, yet made to last for years, there’s no doubt in his mind that they’re meant for someone of importance, of royalty. Which is why Merlin doesn’t understand why Arthur is asking him about them. “Er, I think they suit you?”

“They’re not for me, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur replies, as if the reason why is completely obvious and Merlin is too blind to see it, “They’re yours.”

After a split second, Merlin determines that yes, this has to be one of Arthur’s jokes, but is too surprised to do anything but play along. “Mine? What’s wrong with the ones I have?”

A critical eye sweeps over Merlin’s appearance before Arthur grimaces with disdain. “The thing is, the ones you have make you look like some sort of servant.”

That’s it; Arthur is clearly brain-addled, probably a long-term effect from being attacked by every magical being under the sun or too many blows to the head from fighting. Merlin looks at his king in disbelief, drawing his next words out slowly, “Arthur, I am a servant. I’m _your_ servant.”

“Ah, that’s the thing!” Arthur leans over and claps a hand on Merlin’s back. “From this day forward, you’re no longer my manservant.”

Merlin’s heart drops to the soles of his boots. “…You’re sacking me?”

“Don’t know why you’re so surprised; you’ve been complete rubbish at your duties for years now,” Arthur says, clearly enjoying the distress flitting across Merlin’s eyes. “But consider this more of a promotion of sorts.”

“A promotion?”

Suddenly, it seems the rings on Arthur’s fingers have become the most interesting thing in the world. The king casually plays with them, not looking into Merlin’s imploring gaze while he explains, “The thing is, while you can be a complete idiot most of the time, I’ve noticed myself growing to rely on your opinion on subjects of importance. In the midst of that blathering you spewed back in the forest after Camelot was attacked, you actually seemed…wise. And I that’s when I decided, 'This is a man I would want as a court advisor, dollop-head he may be.’”

Even if he tried, Merlin wouldn’t be able to keep the grin off his face. “First clot-pole, now dollop-head? You’re stealing my words again.”

Shrugging nonchalantly, Arthur glances up again, fixing Merlin with a brilliant smile. “I’m sure you can think of more. You do seem to have a knack for that sort of thing.” He pauses, then gathers the clothes, handing them over to Merlin. “Here, these were specially made for you and your new position.”

At the moment, Merlin is willing himself to not have tears in his eyes; perhaps he’s getting overly hopeful, but if Arthur has started to actually value what Merlin says, maybe the king’s view on magic can eventually be changed, and Merlin can finally reveal the secret he’s kept all these years. “…Thank you, Arthur.”

And of course, Arthur has to ruin the moment by opening his big, fat mouth. “Obviously, until the castle steward can find a replacement, you’ll still have to do your old chores, and today I want you to muck out my stables, clean my armor, sharpen--Oi, hold on!”

Having thrown the exquisite clothes back in Arthur’s face, Merlin grits his teeth and clenches his fists into tight balls. He’s probably quite literally throwing away his only chance, but he’s so angry that after everything, Arthur is still treating him less than equals. Hardly two sides of the same coin that everyone else seemed to be always rambling about. “Don’t want to ruin my new clothes mucking out your stables, _sire_ ,” Merlin growls, storming off before Arthur has a chance to respond.

*

“You’re not wearing your outfit,” Arthur whispers in Merlin’s ear during the next council meeting. The sensation causes Merlin to jump slightly, losing his place in the court document he has previously been reading. It seems that while Arthur’s word is law, the other members of the court are none too happy about a simple servant boy having a say in official matters of Camelot, and Merlin is trying as hard as he can to prove his worth to stodgy old men who value tradition over anything else.

Which includes trying to focus on the current report on the kingdom’s grain storage, even if the subject matter is so dull and boring that Merlin has pinched himself twice to keep his eyelids from drooping. 

At first he tries to ignore his king, but Merlin knows from earlier experience that the decision would land him in the stocks, or worse, so he tries to keep his voice low as he replies, “I always wear this, Arthur.”

Arthur pulls a face, and Merlin wants to clarify that he doesn’t mean he wears his current clothes every single day, and despite what Arthur might think, he does indeed wash himself and do his own laundry regularly. But before he can respond, Arthur continues, “I mean the outfit I gave you. I had it sent to Gaius’s quarters, did you not get it?”

No, Merlin received it with no problem, once again amazed by an outfit that is probably worth at least three months of his wages, if not more. He has even tried it on once or twice, and found that it fits like a glove. Though how Arthur knows his former manservant’s exact measurements well enough to have it made, Merlin has no idea. 

But while he’s touched by the gesture, Merlin hasn’t worn the tunic and breeches outside his own room, for he feels he hasn’t really earned the right to wear such finery just yet. It doesn’t feel right, to be dressed in such a way. 

It doesn’t feel natural, and it most certainly doesn’t feel like him, the skinny, bumbling, _magical_ idiot from the little village of Ealdor.

Instead of voicing these personal doubts, Merlin just mutters back, “It’s too hot and itchy to wear. Now shh, trying to learn about the threat the dangerous granary beetle has on Camelot.”

When the meeting is finally adjourned after what feels like eons, Merlin is fuming. He doesn’t expect the rest of the council to listen to his views right away, but has quickly become tired of them completely vetoing his ideas before he’s even finished speaking. That is, of course, until Arthur says the exact same thing, and suddenly everyone rushes in an agreement, congratulating the king on having a sound mind and judgment.

“This is why you should wear the clothes I gave you, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur drawls as he pushes his chair back to get up, he and Merlin the last few to leave the room. “No one is going to take you seriously when you look like _that_.” 

Idly, Merlin searches his mind for possible spells to give the council members bouts of indigestion at the next dinner, and makes a note to peruse his spell book before Gaius catches wind of his plan. “Come on, Arthur, even if I was dressed in chain-mail of solid gold, encrusted with gems, they still wouldn’t be interested in what I have to say. They‘re never going to see me as anything more than your servant.”

A strange expression flashes on Arthur’s face, and at first Merlin thinks it’s because he’s trying to imagine the picture just presented, but the king’s voice is grave when he finally answers, “Then they are fools.”

All Merlin can do is stare dumbly after Arthur as he leaves for training his knights.

*

Before Arthur can even get to the stables, Merlin is already there, his favorite mare readied and pacing nervously under an equally anxious rider. “You’re going hunting?”

To his credit, Arthur doesn’t even seem startled by Merlin’s presence as he sends one of the stable boys to prepare his steed. “Hello Merlin, didn’t expect you to see you here this early! Didn’t you used to always complain how you wished you could sleep in?”

“You’re going hunting, and you didn’t ask me to come.” Merlin echoes, making it more of a statement than a question this time, trying to keep the pain he feels at being left in the dark out of his voice.

Raising a quizzical eyebrow, Arthur shakes his head, the morning light catching on the golden strands of his hair. “Sometimes it feels like I don’t even know you. Why would I invite you when you hate hunting, and you’re terrible at it to boot. I think it actually works out for both of us that you’re not required to go any more.”

 _‘But what if you need me?’_ is on the tip of Merlin’s tongue, and he bites down on it to catch himself, because those words could lead into a conversation he’s not ready to have just yet. Instead, he fidgets with his reins, glancing around to find that Arthur has arrived alone. “You’re not taking your servant with you?”

“God, no,” Arthur says, his answer quick and followed by a shudder. Until the steward can find a more suitable choice, George has stepped into the position, and how Arthur hasn’t been driven crazy by polishing jokes is anyone’s guess. “He’d probably spend the whole day rattling off which rags have the best fibers for cleaning windows or some nonsense.”

Hiding his chuckle behind his hand, Merlin then clears his throat. “So you thought it would be a good idea for you to go hunting by yourself?” He sighs loudly, clicking his tongue in mock reprimand as he shrugs. “Guess this means I have to go with you; someone has to keep that big head of yours safe.”

“And you think that someone is you? Nothing is going to happen, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur laughs as he swings himself on to his horse’s saddle, but doesn’t protest when Merlin follows him outside the city gate and into the forest.

Too bad Merlin doesn’t even have the chance to get out a “I told you so” when the bandits attack.

*

They’re wet, tired, sore, and covered head to toe with filth, but at least they’re alive. Merlin practically falls off his horse when Arthur decides to make camp for the night, knowing there’s no way they’ll get back to Camelot any time soon. 

“Merlin, I need you to gather firewood and set up camp,” Arthur says as he sits down on a damp and mossy log, Excalibur finally falling from the tight grip he had it in ever since they fled the bandit fortress. “And don’t forget to tie up and water the horses.”

“Not your servant any more,” Merlin mumbles as he slides down the trunk of the tree, his body willing to pass out right there, itchy bark against his backside be damned. 

“Merlin!” Arthur snaps, rubbing his temples as if nursing off a headache. “I am still your king, and you will do as I say. Besides, it’s your fault we’re in this mess.”

“Me?!” Merlin squawks, sitting up instantly as his blood begins to boil, fatigue being replaced by anger. “How is this my fault?! You’re the one that lead us straight into that lot!”

A bit miffed at being reminded of this fact, Arthur shoves his sword in the ground as he stands up again, tying the horses himself before they wander off. “Who’s the one who ended up getting captured, _Mer_ lin?”

“You didn’t have to rescue me, Arthur, I could’ve handled it--”

“You?!” Arthur throws his hands up in the air, staring at Merlin incredulously as if he’s grown an extra limb. “They were ready to kill you - because they thought you were nothing more than a simple servant - before I intervened!”

Of course Arthur doesn’t know that Merlin really did have the situation under the control, and the fire that "accidentally" broke out was a diversion he created so they could escape. Instead he remains silent as Arthur continues to rant, “At least if you were wearing the clothes you’re _supposed_ to, they might have recognized you as part of the royal court, and--”

“And what, Arthur?” Merlin interrupts, growing tired of Arthur pushing the ridiculous idea of him being dressed properly all the time, “If they did know who I was, instead they might have just asked for a ransom--”

“And I would have it paid it, no matter the cost!” Arthur shouts, his jaw clenched and eyes stormy as his voice echoes through the woods, frightening birds from nearby bushes. Their gazes lock for a few seconds in a quiet challenge before Merlin has to turn away, not wanting to over-think what Arthur’s outburst meant. “It doesn’t matter, Arthur. My life is hardly worth as much as yours.”

In a instant, Arthur crosses the distance between them, roughly dragging Merlin to his feet. “Do not ever think that,” he growls, his heated breath like a passionate kiss against Merlin’s skin, “You are too important to Camelot and its people….and to me.”

Eyes widening, Merlin waits for Arthur to brush off his words as a jest, like he has done many times in the past. Instead, Arthur loosens his grasp, squeezing Merlin’s shoulders with an unusual tenderness before letting go. “…Try and get some sleep, we ride out at dawn.”

As he settles in for what is sure to be a restless night, Merlin can’t help but think his entire world has shifted and finally started to click into place.

*

When they return to Camelot, Merlin starts wearing the clothes Arthur gave him.

…For about five days, because that is as long as Merlin can stand Arthur smiling with pure, smug satisfaction in his direction, and how the sight makes his heartbeat quicken inside his chest.

*

“So, you‘re a sorcerer.”

Merlin cradles his head in his hands as he sighs in exasperation. Though he supposes he should be thankful he’s not rotting in a dungeon somewhere or tied to a burning pyre in Camelot‘s courtyard. “Yes, Arthur, I thought that was made clear when I fought off Morgana’s army for you with _fireballs coming from my hands._ ”

The silence that follows is unsettling, so Merlin looks up to see Arthur grinning at him maniacally, and dread pools into his belly. “…Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m just thinking that, in the addition of your new robes, you should have a hat,” Arthur says, his grin growing wider by the minute, threatening to split that handsome, kingly face of his in two. “A big, pointy one. Very magical-looking.”

Later, at the banquet dinner held in his honor that night, Merlin determines that making Arthur belch loudly in front of everyone is completely worth the threat of spending a week in the stocks.


End file.
